


All He Should Have Been

by zombie_socks



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Grief/Mourning, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:25:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2554469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombie_socks/pseuds/zombie_socks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of a mission gone south, Natasha tries to deal with the death of her partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All He Should Have Been

I’m loading weapons, staying busy. I can’t stop, haven’t stopped since the building came down. The dust may have settled, but I’m endlessly restless. I haven’t slept in days, the pain in my chest keeping me up. I think the circles under my eyes are starting to concern Bruce as well.

I hear him enter even though he’s trying to stay silent. He should know better. He should know that I could hear a pen drop with the same accuracy as a gunshot. But I’ve been expecting him so I call out, “Whatever sermon you have you can save it,” I begin, slamming a mag into my Glock. “I don’t need it.”

“I was just coming to see how you were doing,” he responds, a slight shrug that I can tell is fake. I know he wants to help, but I’m in no mood for sympathy, or condolences, or any other crap of that manner. I just want to shoot things until they’re destroyed beyond recognition.

“Thousands of people die every day, Cap.” I pull back on the gun, loading it. “This one I just happened to know.” I collect my throwing knives and handguns from the table and turn to the range, squaring my stance, lining up my target.

“So that’s all he is to you then? Another casualty?”

I take a shot and the bullet lands off center. I’m frustrated and Steve’s not helping any. “That’s all he should’ve been,” I reply tersely, lining up another shot. Again it misses the center.

            “’Tasha,” he starts. But I cut him off by emptying the mag in rapid fire. The bullets slice paper with satisfaction and smoke, but the target’s center ring remains untouched like a skin-raking taunt.  

I yell at him, “What do you want me to say, Cap? Or do you want me to collapse onto my knees and wail his name in lamentation? Would that make you happy?” I reload and aim the gun again but he grabs my wrist and pulls my hands down.

His voice is louder, harsher, as he scolds, “I just don’t think it should be that difficult to admit that you loved him.”

I shake from his grip. “That I loved him?” My tone is wild and brimming with disbelief. “Is that really what you think it was? Cap, your lungs don’t love air. Okay? Your heart doesn’t love blood. One is necessary for the other to work, to function. And as soon as it’s gone, the thing breaks and becomes useless.” I search his eyes with my own for a moment, not sure what exactly I’m looking for, but knowing I don’t find it. “And you can’t patch that up with something as petty and trite as love.” I size up the target once more.

He sighs deeply. “Only you would think love was petty, Natasha.”

The shot decays and I spin towards him with wild, watery eyes. “I did love him,” I confess in a rush. “And it didn’t do a damn thing to save him.”

I toss my gun onto the table behind the range and storm out into the locker room. Once stripped down and in the showers, I brace myself against the wall for a moment until my eyes have stopped leaking. The warm water washes away the salt.

But the pain in my chest remains.  


End file.
